


Blessed be these Bloody Hands, Whispered on Shadows and Wind

by JamieisClassic



Series: Spook'o'Ween 2020 [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Animal Transformation, Blood Kink, Blood Magic, Cock & Ball Torture, Darkest Timeline, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Mal okays it, Painplay, Ritual Sex, Sex Magic, Vaginal Sex, Woman on Top, also this isn't infidelity, dark tyrande, its light but I'm tagging anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26767789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamieisClassic/pseuds/JamieisClassic
Summary: In a mildly alternate universe where in order to fulfil her role as Elune's avatar of vengeance, Trynade needed to complete a ritual of summoning and binding. She enlists Varian's help when his championship to Lo'Gosh makes him the ideal partner for her task.[warning: this gets dark, and its heavy pain and knife/blood play]
Relationships: Tyrande Whisperwind/Varian Wrynn
Series: Spook'o'Ween 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949278
Comments: 3
Kudos: 7





	Blessed be these Bloody Hands, Whispered on Shadows and Wind

**Author's Note:**

> just real quick before we get into it, this one gets dark and if that's not your bag please don't read. Be cautious of the tags and know that when I say dark Tyrande I don't mean that lightly. Hopefully, this is at least some of y'all's bag

Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune, watched the King of Stormwind march his way through Darkshore like it belonged to him, and she supposed if his connection to Goldrinn was anything to speak of, in some manner it did. The man was pompous, arrogant, quick to anger and slow to trust, but he was the champion of the wolf Ancient and thus he would serve as His conduit. She had done everything, given and risked everything to take on the dark aspect of her beloved goddess, but yet there was one requirement of her pact left unmet — a bond bound in the blood and seed of a god. Seeing as there weren’t any gods around, and Ursoc had fallen in the Emerald Nightmare, Varian’s would have to do. 

Plus, Tyrande knew the man had never remarried and, at least according to her Sentinels, he was not wont to take lovers, so she figured he probably deserved a reward for his aid both in Ashenvale all those years ago and, more recently, in helping Greymane in Darkshore against son’s wishes. She was sure her beauty would be ample reward for his service. 

As he drew closer, Malfurion looked to her with a tense smile, bowing and kissing her hand before departing. They’d talked about her goddess’s demands, about how necessary her intimacy with the human king was, and though Mal had agreed, he was hardly happy about it.  _ What does he know?  _ She thought sharply,  _ He slept for thousands of years while I led my people, who is he to judge me for the ends I go to in order to save them… in order to avenge them.  _

She was shaken from her thoughts by the clearing of a throat, and her eyes refocused to find Varian standing before her. Smiling mildly, she gave a small curtsy. “High Commander Wrynn, I am honoured you answered my request.”

He answered her with a superfluous bow that, for all the time she’d known him, she still could not determine the genuineness of. “The pleasure is mine, High Priestess. Though it is no longer  _ High Commander _ , I’m afraid. Simply Lord Wrynn for now, or Varian would be fine if you wish to send courtesy away. Light knows I grow tired of it.” 

“May I ask what happened to your position, Lord Varian?” she asked, intentionally combining formality with casualness just to see if he would correct her. He only smiled. 

“I’ve been put in the proverbial dog house for aiding Genn in his work here. Anduin was… less than pleased that I went against direct orders and has put me on leave and temporarily stripped me of my rank,” Varian explained.

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s rather harsh treatment for one’s father.”

“Perhaps, though I am his soldier first and his father second, while we’re at war at least. Nevermind that I’m sure I would do the same if not worse had our positions been reversed,” he replied, shrugging, and Tyrande suddenly remembered his anger at Anduin’s leaving with Velen, but also that Varian had allowed him to go. Somehow, she doubted Varian would be so harsh as to strip Anduin of his rank, though she also assumed that the action was mostly for show on Anduin’s part anyhow. 

“Well, though I can’t say I’m happy you’ve suffered for it I have been meaning to thank you for your aid. Would you walk with me?” She asked, motioning into the woods where, to her knowledge alone, a grotto had been arranged that would perfectly show the night’s full moon. 

“Of course, High Priestess,” he said, following her when she began to walk. 

“Just Tyrande is fine, Varian, we will be alone soon enough and there is no need to stand on such formalities,” she replied, making her way over the dense brush and heavy tree roots with ease and glad to see Varian had equally little trouble.

“Oh?” he asked, and when she turned to look he was watching her strangely, “It almost sounds as if you’re trying to get me alone, Tyrande.”

The statement seemed half a joke and half a question, but Tyrande responded to neither, simply leading the man further into the forest. She was confident that he would not resist, but she had plans in place in case he did. As they neared the grotto, she could feel Varian growing tenser as if trying to find escape routes through the forest, and she worried her initial assumption that he would be agreeable was incorrect. 

They left the thickness of the forest for the clearing and grotto and Varian froze on the woods’ edge. “Why have you brought me to this place, Tryande?” he asked, voice harsh and posture wary.

“Because I need your help to avenge my people, to defeat the Banshee that curses our land with her blight. This form I’ve taken needs a final piece to reach its full power, and you happen to hold that piece,” she finally explained, holding herself back from pushing the issue prematurely — she still didn't know exactly why he was hesitating. 

“This is for something… magical, then?” he asked slowly as if he was trying to figure it out as he went.

“Of a sort, I must perform a ritual of summoning and binding and it requires the participation of an Ancient. The nature of said participation is… far more pleasant when the creature in question is mammalian rather than, say, a tree,” she replied. 

He raised an eyebrow. “Sex?”

“And blood, yes.” 

He nodded once then stepped forward, starting to shed his armour. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Barking a laugh, she stepped into his space and brought his hands to a pause by catching his wrists. “Not quite yet, though I appreciate the enthusiasm. We must breathe in this place first, it has been consecrated and protected from less than pleasant influences, and then bathe in moon water before we actually get to anything. I’ll draw a rune on your chest and carve over it lightly with a consecrated dagger, and I’ll need you to remain very still while I do so. The nature of the carving means I should probably be on top.” 

“Of course it’s complicated,” he grumbled, shaking himself free of her grasp and making for the center of the grotto. Once he reached the middle, he plopped down on the grass, taking off his boots and socks to feel the grass under his feet. “So what do I do? Meditate or some shit?” 

“Or some shit,” she replied coyly, and they shared a smile. 

She came to Varian’s side and gracefully folded herself into a seated position on the grass. It was soft and comforting beneath her, and she closed her eyes to breathe in its majesty. The sound of clinking buckles made her open them to look at Varian, who had once more started taking off his armour. 

Before she could stop him again, he spoke, “I just want out of it, it’s hardly comfortable to sit in the grass like this in plate.” 

“Ah, of course. Proceed then,” she replied and went back to meditating.

“Wasn’t asking permission,” Varian grumbled under his breath as he continued unbuckling himself, and Tyrande couldn’t help but smile at how little he understood about the power dynamic between them at the moment. 

As Varian made a pile of his armour, Tyrande focused on the scent of the trees around her, the song they played with the wind, the flutter of birds and scurrying of animals, and the soft plushness of the grass and moss beneath her. Eventually, the sounds from Varian ceased, and she heard him take a deep breath through his nose, likely taking in the scents of the forest as she had. They sat like that in peaceful silence for a long while, as the sun set and moon rose, until finally the hooting of owls replaced the chirping of robins and she stood. 

Her body was stiff from staying still so long, a thing that would not have happened half a century ago, and she helped Varian to his feet as well, looking far stiffer even than she felt. Despite wincing noticeably, he said nothing as he rose, rolling his shoulders once he was standing and cocking an eyebrow at her. 

“I’m assuming we’re onto step two then?” he asked a little mockingly and she held herself back from rolling her eyes. 

“Please undress, we must cleanse our bodies now,” she said, not directly answering his question, or mockery. 

Thankfully, he did not protest and quickly divested himself of clothes. He was attractive, she supposed, for a human, all bulging muscles and tanned skin, and she allowed herself to appreciate his form as she took a cloth dampened in the pitcher of water she’d brought from her temple over his body. When she had finished wiping him down, she emptied the remainder of the pitcher over his head, neck and shoulders, allowing it to run down his form and carry any impurities with it. 

She brought up her second pitcher to repeat the process on herself, but Varian caught her hand. “Allow me,” he said, dampening a cloth in the water and moving to wipe her skin with it. 

His hands were warm where he touched her, palm weighing her breast and thumb swiping over her nipple quickly before moving on, and though she’d promised herself and her beloved that this was purely for ritual and that she would find no pleasure in it, she couldn’t help but enjoy his touches nonetheless. He was thorough but efficient in his washing of her and rose on his toes to pour the water over her head. 

Now cleansed, she instructed Varian to lie down on the stone altar just west of the center of the grotto and collected her mortar and pestle. She had already combined the ingredients she needed — cranberries, fresh sage, pine needles and lavender — and now all she had to do was mix and grind them together. When she finished blending the herbs and berries under the pestle, adding a few drops of moon water until it turned into a more workable paste, she approached Varian. With a small wooden wand she began to draw the rune she’s seen in her vision on Varian’s chest. He was hairier than she’d anticipated, though she supposed that was normal for human men of his age, and she ensured as she drew the rune that the hair didn’t interrupt the neatness of her lines. 

One circle, then another within it, a ring of strange lettering between them that she understood though could not read, then within the smaller circle a seven-pointed star. Finally, between the star’s points, she drew seven ancient symbols of warding, summoning, binding, and transferring — some meant to protect Varian, some to summon the final piece of Elune’s dark aspect, and the rest meant to send through Varian’s seed the energy summoned to Tyrnade’s body where it would be bound. It was a risky process, and even one small misstep could be very costly, but she knew it was what she had to do for the good of her people.

When she finished the rune she went to retrieve the dagger she had found and consecrated for the job, a strange, curved blade with a spiked knuckle guard and an eye-like gem at the base of the grip. She ran it up Varian’s flank lightly, careful not to nick him just yet, and raised an eyebrow when she noticed the way he shuddered and his cock twitched. Interesting indeed. 

Curious, she trailed her fingers down to brush over his cock before digging two sharp nails into his sack. He jerked, body going tense, and he started growing hard rapidly. 

“I can tell you’re judging me,” he said, his glare daring her to say otherwise.

She rose to the bait. “I’m not judging you, Varian, I simply find it interesting,” she replied. When Varian raised a disbelieving eyebrow she rolled her eyes and conceded, “Fine, I am judging you but no more than I judge everyone.” 

“Elune truly is merciful,” he griped sarcastically, though the sharpness of his words was stolen away by the breathy moan that followed them when she grabbed his balls hard in the palm of her hand and dug two nails into his taint. “Gods above.”

“You genuinely enjoy that?” She squeezed harder and sure enough his cock twitched and a drop of precum beaded at the tip. “And here I was concerned I’d have difficulty getting you hard.”

Varian snorted. “Don’t play at modesty Tyrande, it doesn’t suit you.”

She said nothing, knowing he was right and not wanting to admit it. Drawing her hand away, she reached between her own legs to ready herself and was surprised to find herself far wetter than she’d expected. Perhaps there was a part of her that was sadistic after all. 

Figuring her wetness would be ample to make their coupling comfortable, and not particularly interested in the pleasure of it, she climbed upon the altar and straddled Varian’s torso. She positioned his cock with her free hand, sinking down on him easily and smirking when digging her nails into his sack while doing so elicited a long moan and fluttering eyelids from him. Varian was panting, body shaking and fingers curled likely to the point of pain into the edge of the stone altar, and she clenched on him just to see him shudder. Despite herself, she found she rather enjoyed the feeling of having him inside her. 

As she began to ride him, a small gyration of her hips that was pleasurable without being too distracting or so disturbing to her balance that she wouldn’t be able to cut clean lines, she noticed him tensing. “Remember, Varian, you’re not to come until the rune is completely cut into your flesh,” she said, slowing her hips just a little.

Varian simply chuckled. “Don’t worry High Priestess, I won’t ruin your ceremony by coming too soon. Trust me, you’ll know when I’m about to come and it’s definitely not yet.”

She didn’t know what that meant but figured he would let her know when it mattered. Continuing her motions, she gave herself a moment to really  _ feel _ him inside her then focused back on the task at hand. With her spare hand, she steadied herself against Varian’s hip and then took up the dagger in her main hand, steady and sure as she began to carve into his flesh over the pre-drawn line of the outermost circle. 

As the knife bit into his chest, he flinched minutely but otherwise had no reaction, and Tyrande took that as a good sign that she could continue. She slowly worked the outer circle then began on the inner one. Blood pooled in the lines and began to flow to the sides of his chest, but thankfully the paste she’d drawn the rune in was sturdy and did not smudge or fade as the lines of blood ran over them. Varian’s chest was shaking with breath but otherwise he kept himself still, though she could feel the twitching and tensing of his legs where he’d brought them up so that his feet were sole-down on the altar behind her. 

She started on the lettering between the circles and Varian groaned, eyes cracked open to watch her. “Fuck, Tyrande,” he groaned, voice hoarse and strained. 

“Do you need a break?” she asked, slowing the movement of her hips and lifting the knife.

“Please keep going, please,” he replied, shaking his head, “It’s… It’s really good.” 

_ Oh, _ she thought, surprised this extent of pain was enjoyable for him but not about to argue when it worked out in her favour. She resumed her movements, carefully carving the lettering into his skin and making sure to get every line and dot perfect so that they worked properly. Though it was not language she quite could read or speak, some part of her mind understood the gist of the phrase to be a summoning of Elune’s dark aspect and thus she wanted to ensure she got it right. 

When the final letter was carved the marks began to glow ever so faintly as if the moonlight had chosen to not only reflect off the blood but actually shine from the wounds themselves. Assuming this was a good sign, Tyrande started on the seven-pointed star and the symbols between its points. She ground harder against Varian meanwhile, finding herself affected by the process in a way she hadn’t expected; the smell of his blood and the shaking of his body filled her with an ecstatic power and pleasure that she’d never experienced before. As the final symbol was carved, and the moon began to come fully out from behind the clouds, something suddenly shifted. 

Varian howled, literally, the long, pitching cry of an alpha calling for its pack, and his body began to shake violently. She heard cracking and snapping as something about his body changed, his knuckles shifting and popping as his palms grew long and distended and his nails turned to claws. His jaw grew larger and his teeth turned razor-sharp and longer than before, and when he opened his eyes to look at her they were aglow the yellow a wolf’s. Most significantly, though, his head of long dark hair rapidly grew to a snow-white that glowed like a stream under the moon’s light. She realized, then, that she had not only summoned Elune but Goldrinn in his full glory as well. 

The rune carved into his chest was shining brightly with its own light, but despite its light, the air around them shimmered with black-and-purple flames and smoke that lit them without any illumination, warmed them without any heat. Varian brought a hand to her hip and held her in place above him, fucking into her rapidly and she shook with it, suddenly oversensitive and overwhelmed. For all the many thousands of years she had lived, this was beyond all she had known. 

A voice invaded her thoughts, cool and feminine and all at once familiar and foreign, “That’s it, my avatar, bring the seed of the wolf god into your body and let yourself become my darkest shadow.” 

Tyrande knew in some part of herself that the voice was not that of her goddess, but the power it promised her — the strength of her need for vengeance matched doubly — was too much for her to resist. She pushed back onto each of Varian’s thrusts, thighs trembling from strain and ecstasy, unsure whether the sound of a woman screaming in pleasure that blended with Varian’s howls was actually her own voice or that of the entity in her mind. As the heat within her climbed, the scent of Varian’s blood and the ice-heat of the lightless flames around them driving her closer and closer to orgasm, she noticed something growing at the base of Varian’s cock that felt distinctly like a wolf’s knot.

Suddenly he was slamming the entirety of his cock, knot and all, into her and tensing full-bodied as he came. As he did, power flowed into her from all around her and the flames rushed into her mouth and nose and filled her senses with the memory of Teldrassil burning, all her rage and anger and need for vengeance resurfacing. She teetered over the edge herself as that power filled her, and her ears popped, ringing, with the strength of her orgasm. 

When sound came back to her, she noticed the patter of rain was all around her, and opening her eyes she noticed that, despite the clear sky, heavy drops of rain were falling from the sky, glittering with the moonlight like little stars. It wasn’t until she looked down and saw the way they stained Varian’s hair a bright and gory red that she realized it was not rain but blood that was falling from the sky. Pleasure raced up her spine and already she felt a deep yearning to continue riding him building within her. She resumed her movements as much as she was able, milking his cock for the last of his come, and threw her head back in pleasure to let the blood raining from the sky steam over her body and fall into her open mouth.

She felt power like nothing she’d ever had fill her, scattering across her skin like electricity and buzzing in her chest like thunder, and as she felt her orgasm build again she raised one hand toward the moon and called out to it. Her fingers were longer than usual and the tips were a gradient black that started on the first knuckle and ended in long claws of pure shadow, and as she reached for the moon she felt its light drain, darkening it and the whole of the starry sky and filling her with its light, which her body fed on like so much sunlight on the leaves of a tree. 

Once more she was coming, her whole body screaming and tightening around Varian’s cock, vision and hearing blanking out from the intensity of it. When she came back to herself Varian was watching her from where he lay on the stone altar, most of his features returned to normal except for the colour of his hair and eyes. 

“Was that what you needed?” he asked, voice gruff and strained. 

“Yes, you’ve served me well my pet,” she replied, stroking his face softly. Something was different now, and she knew she had not quite done what she’d intended, but she had taken the form of the new moon and had more power than she could have hoped for. If she felt now that Varian was tied to her in a way she hadn’t anticipated, that was a sacrifice she was willing to make. 

“Thank you, mistress,” he said seemingly automatically, then frowned at himself, “Where did that come from?” 

“I may have accidentally bound  _ you _ to myself, not just the dark aspect of my goddess,” she explained, stroking his cheek, “I can find a way to reverse it if you need me to.”

Varian shook his head. “No, I wish to remain your consort.”

And that was it, wasn’t it, she’d bound Goldrinn to herself as a consort somehow and now Varian was bound to her as well. 

“He is made to serve you, my avatar, my champion. When your power wanes bring the wolf inside you again and your strength will return even greater. He is the key to your power, he is the key to your vengeance, and he will serve faithfully by your side,” that voice from before whispered in her mind, and she nodded to it. 

“Yes, my goddess, I will keep him as my consort,” she said, and Varian didn’t even seem surprised by her speaking to the goddess.

“Good,” the voice whispered. 

Tyrande climbed from where she was still sitting on Varian’s cock, surprised when no come dribbled out of her like she’s expected. She helped him up, combining his messy white hair into something more presentable and finding a cloth to clean him off with. As she wiped the mess of blood and paste from his chest, she was surprised once again to find the cuts scarred over and still holding just a hint of moonlight within them, glowing faintly against his warm olive skin. 

Once clean, he dressed in his armour and clothing, though Tyrande found herself unneeding of her own save a belt from her armour to tie around her hip and holster her knife to — she felt more comfortable naked. She collected the things she’d brought with her and headed through the dark forest with Varian. Neither of them struggled in the absolute darkness of thick woods beneath a moonless sky, and as they exited the woods the sentinels and wardens all froze at her appearance. After a moment of standing frozen, all bowed but one: Maiev Shadowsong. 

“What the fuck have you done to yourself, Tyrande?” she demanded gruffly.

“What was necessary to save this world, Maiev, something I expected you of all people would understand,” she snapped, but Maiev just sneered.

She shook her head. “I can see you’ve taken a monster within yourself, Tyrande. I pray to the goddess you’ve abandoned that you do not share a fate with Illidan, because She knows I won’t hesitate to do unto you as I did unto him.” 

“If you do not serve me, leave me. There is no place for the weakness of your doubt here,” she growled.

Maiev spat at her feet, turning and leaving in a flutter of her green cloak and a flash of her glaives. As she disappeared into the horizon on her hippogryph, Tyrande had to stop herself from striking her out of the sky in irritation. She returned to where she’d stood earlier that day to greet Varian and surveyed her troops. This would do, this would do indeed. Soon the Banshee would make another strike against them here and she would finally get to have her vengeance. 

Tyrande closed her eyes and reached for the Light, hoping to thank her goddess, but found nothing there to answer her but her own dark power. Well, that wasn’t what she’d wanted but it would serve nonetheless. With that darkness squirming to be free from her like an animal in a too-small cage, she whistled for Ash’alah and mounted her, taking off in the direction of the Horde camps. Perhaps if the Banshee wasn’t here yet she would be able to lure her here by decimating her troops. 

As she raced over the dark ground she heard the thump of heavy paws behind her and, looking over her shoulder, she saw a hulking white wolf and knew that Varian, too, had taken on an aspect of Goldrinn far beyond any he had before. She smiled. This was how she would destroy the Horde. 

This was how she would remake the world. 

**Author's Note:**

> Did you spot the knife wife reference? Yes, that was Xal'atath *wink*
> 
> As always, kudos and comments mean the world! Happy Halloween 🎃


End file.
